


Farewell, My Heart

by Terion



Series: Tales from the Emerald Dream [5]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Grief/Mourning, World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22120186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terion/pseuds/Terion
Summary: Caren Bloodwolf loved Kaalo Stormfist despite all of their differences of personality and character and race. For just over six years, he was her closest confidant and companion, knowing more about her than anyone else. Not even her closest friends got to see parts of her that Kaalo did during those years.Part of her died with him the day he died in Northrend.
Series: Tales from the Emerald Dream [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/598927





	Farewell, My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting complete on my computer for a while so here goes publishing it. I'm not currently still working on the series itself but I may return to it in the future.

He was gone.

_He was gone._

He was _gone_ and she _remained_.

“ _Be strong, gol_ ,” had been the last words he’d spoken as blood had bubbled past green lips and broken tusks. And all she had been able to do was scream in a cry somewhere between a feline howl and a bear’s roar, his head cupped between her hands that brimmed with healing magic that did _nothing_ to hold him.

After that...she did not remember.

She did not remember because she had _broken_ and had done what she had sworn not to do since the first and last time she’d nearly hurt her sister so many years ago. Caren had reached for the unfamiliar bulk of the bear instead of the familiar sleekness of the cat and she had let her heart _rage_.

It was a wonder she had not been lost to it entirely, like the Druids of the Pack of old.

Wonder still that she hadn’t turned massive paws and claws and fangs on her allies but from what she had been told after, they had stayed out of her way. But what else was one to do in the wake of a massive black horned bear?

Caren clenched one hand into a fist as she recalled what she had been told. That before her cry had even died on the air she was up and leaping, shifting from tauren bulk to the thick armored skin of the bear. Of the thorns that had risen around Kaalo’s fallen body, thick and strong, preventing anyone or anything from reaching him. The dull _crunch_ of her bowling through a skeletal giant at the knees and bringing it down to crush its skull beneath her paws. Of how, after the Scourge forces that she and Kaalo had stumbled into were finally routed, she had limped back to the thorn cage and it had parted, allowing her to collapse next to him in instant unconsciousness.

She was lucky that the members of the Argent Crusade who had come to their aid had taken them both back to their home base. Luckier still that the Highlord was allowing her the time she needed to recover within their base and had submitted to her request to send a message to her closest allies. When she was finally capable of thinking clearly, she owed Tirion Fordring a depth of thanks for his hospitality as well as the grace with which Kaalo’s body had been treated.

“My lady druid,” came a sudden voice from outside of the large tent and Caren lifted her head, focusing on the speaker. A hand gloved against the cold pushed open the tent flap and the young human woman in a priest’s robes under her cloak had a disgusted wrinkle to her nose as she leaned in. “One of your companions has arrived.”

_Saran._

Only an undead could surely make the unflappable seeming Crusaders lose their stern composure. Even though their ranks tolerated them, there were a few who were obviously uncomfortable with their presence.

“Thank you, Colleen,” she replied in a low voice, her Common shakey. And how could it not be? Saran had helped her refine her skill in the language but Kaalo... _Kaalo_ was the one who had taught her when she had asked to learn. And he was _gone_.

Unable to stop her hands from shaking at the thoughts, Caren started to rise to step out of the tent but then stilled when she heard Saran’s voice, his lowborn Stormwind accent stronger than usual and warring with the roughness that death had put into his voice.

“I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be here, Crusader,” she heard him snap, obviously talking to someone besides Colleen. “Point me in the direction I need to go and I’ll be out of your hair.”

At that Colleen turned and called out, “Here, sir.”

“Oh good, one of you lot has some fucking sense.”

Caren huffed out what was almost a laugh as she heard his boots approach more swiftly before calling out in Taur-ahe in as stern a voice as she could manage, “Be nice, Nec.” Even in the other language she didn’t dare use his birth name. He barely even acknowledged its existence half the time and only allowed her to use it because that was the first name he’d given her when she’d found him. That and one never knew when someone might be around that would remember the name _Saran Tathdyl_ as the traitor to SI:7 who had escaped the justice of Stormwind five years ago.

There was a scoff from outside and then she heard him say in quick Common, “My apologies, priestess. You didn’t deserve that.”

“It matters little, undead,” she heard the woman, Colleen Tulley, reply in a chilly tone. The priestess had been nothing but kind to Caren since her arrival after hearing what had happened but it seemed she held no love for the undead. “Your friend is within.”

There was a subtle jab on the word _friend_ the Caren couldn’t quite process but it didn’t much matter as Saran simply grunted in reply before he shoved his way through the door. Instantly he came to a stop, the irritated wrinkle of his eyebrows giving way to the rise of pure _shock_ and the light of his eyes guttered for a moment in the best approximation he had for blinking.

“Light save, Caren,” he breathed in Common, stepping forward and falling to his knees in front of her. In her utterly careless seated position on the rug that someone had brought in to protect her from the ground, Caren didn’t even shift at all, just looking down at the undead man. She had been there since she had awoken inside the tent and had done little more than eat and sleep after she had asked for the messages sent. Someone had bandaged her wounds but she hadn’t even bothered to look at the bandages or to actually heal whatever wounds had crossed over between her forms.

Honestly she wasn’t even sure how many days it had been.

Icy bone fingers cupped her cheeks then and she closed her eyes, bowing her head down until the tip of her nose pressed against the top of Saran’s head. He was not Kaalo, he was not the scent of wolf fur and withheld lightning and the subtle hint of troll-made tobacco. But he was _Saran_ and the scent of cold and leather and steel and the faint hint of some sort of herbs kept her steady.

“What happened?” he asked gently.

“We were ambushed by Scourge,” she replied, not moving from her position. She felt his hands brush across the fur on her cheeks and then they were moving, brushing lightly over the bandaged wounds on her arms. As he touched the one that circled around her ribs underneath her wraps, her leather vest still hanging open from the process, Caren choked, “One caught me in the ribs with a dagger and I went down, trying to heal it. Kaalo tried to protect me from them.”

There was silence for a long moment and then Saran asked, “Where did they put him?”

She inhaled a ragged breath because he knew, he _knew_ , just from how she was reacting. From the lack of Kaalo’s presence here in the tent. Her call for aid. And probably a dozen more things that he was able to read thanks to the training he’d gotten from SI:7. “Behind the tent,” Caren answered in a whisper, falling back into her native tongue from the Common she had been keeping to. “The cold is...it’s keeping…him...keep him…”

Tears welled in her eyes and she couldn’t finish the sentence. _She couldn’t_ . To say it out loud was to confirm that he was _gone_.

A sob burst out of her and then Saran was shushing her, whispering nonsense as he cupped her cheeks in his hands again. Caren reached for him then, gripping to the solid strength of his arms, and trying to hold onto her composure. But he tapped her chin for attention and when she opened her eyes to look at him, there was an expression she’d never seen on the undead’s wasted face. She had learned to read his smile, his worry, his self-hatred, his laughter, and so many other emotions but this was one was a mystery.

“Do not hold back your grief on my account, Caren,” he urged, his voice low and sad. She just stared down at him, at this man that she had helped find purpose in his undeath only three years ago, and then she crumpled. He caught her as best he could as she collapsed and when they finally settled it was with him seated on the floor cross-legged and her head in his lap as she sprawled carelessly on her side with her back to the door. She was certain her horns were probably stabbing into the leather of his armor but he made no move to change where she was.

No, he only bowed his head over her and ran his fingers slowly through her mane, half singing some old tune in Common underneath his breath. And Caren closed her eyes and just _listened_.

She wasn’t certain how long they remained like that until there was the sound of the flap of the tent twitching from behind her before Colleen called out, “My lady druid?”

Saran’s voice immediately fell off in the middle of another song and he replied before she could even think it, “She’s not feeling well. Speak to me if you must, please, priestess.”

There was a pause and then, “The man you arrived with, he says he can wait no longer to return. And there is an elf here who just arrived, a mage, who says he was the second summoned by the Highlord.”

Reaching up to grasp Saran’s knee, Caren softly asked, “You came with Cord?” He nodded briefly down at her before he turned his attention to answering Colleen.

“Can you ask both of them to come here, priestess?”

“Only because of the lady druid, undead.”

“Well, of course, she’s far nicer than I am.”

At his sarcastic reply, she snapped her fingers against his knee in a scolding fashion and he just smiled down at her as Colleen’s footsteps retreated. They remained in silence until three sets of footsteps returned, two of them hurrying along ahead of the third.

The first through the door was Hresden, the elf cursing under his breath in rapid Thalassian before she heard his cloak hit the ground. Caren knew his green eyes would be snapping over the scene before him, ears twitching, and then he hissed, “It’s _freezing_ in here, old man. Didn’t you have the decency to keep a fire lit in here?”

“Whyever would I do that when I knew you were probably coming too, elfy?” replied Saran. He then turned his attention away as the mage began bustling around the tent, rattling at the two nearly dead braziers that had been set up before igniting them with a fresh flame of magic. Caren watched him even as she listened to Saran speak quietly to the second heavier set of footsteps that she knew was his brother-in-law. “Go back to your unit, Cord, there’s no way I’m finishing what we started right now. She just suffered a loss and I can’t abandon her. She didn’t abandon me.”

“Another day, brother,” replied the man warmly, his voice carrying the typical Stormwind accent - just enough different from Saran’s lowborn to be obvious. Then Caren felt his eyes on her and slowly turned her head to look up at him, registering a kind smile in a broad human face and dark eyes with brown hair. He had an Alliance tabard tucked away into his belt and the heavy armor of the general Stormwind infantry and logically she should have felt threatened just a little.

But he had accepted her friend into his family and had fought alongside him and she knew he was trustworthy.

Cord Bowman leaned down then, cautiously resting two fingers against her shoulder, and looked her in the eyes as he softly said, “I’m sorry for your loss, m’lady.” Nodding, Caren lifted a hand slowly, cautiously grasping his so much smaller one within her own.

“Thank you,” she breathed before letting a little of her magic flow into him, enough to linger and heal any wounds or aches he had on his journey back. She couldn’t let her friend’s brother-in-law go back injured, now could she? “Earth Mother watch your path, Cord Bowman.”

The man just blinked then smiled broadly, squeezing her fingers before letting go. “Thank you much, m’lady. Sa - _shit_ , Nec, I’ll be taking the Crusaders offered escort back to where I left that idiot ass gryphon of mine so I can get back to the Skybreaker. You’ll leave word when you can for us to get back to it?”

“At the closest drop point I set up to where we last were. If my wyvern hasn’t fucked off from where we left them, point her in my direction, will you?”

“Of course, brother.” There was another warm smile and then he was gone, leaving just the three of them alone in the tent. For a moment the only noise that carried was Hresden’s continued muttering to himself under his breath in Thalassian as he finished lighting the braziers.

Then he stalked over and settled down behind her, his back pressed right up against hers and his feet pointed at the door, hands hanging over his raised knees - their first defense if anything or anyone unfriendly came through it. The mage didn’t say anything for a long moment then his head twitched towards her.

“They told me what happened after I demanded to know. Said Nec had just charged off without asking anything except where you were and they weren’t inclined to follow,” he stated softly, the roughness of Orcish so _jarring_ when mixed with his High Elven accent. “By the light, Caren, I… _I’m sorry_.”

Anyone else might have said _I can’t imagine what you’re going through_.

Hresden, though, he knew what it was like to lose _everything_ , to watch his whole world burn.

They both did, her mage and her rogue.

Her throat was tight with sudden renewed grief but Caren managed to shake her head and said, “Not your fault.”

Saran’s fingers curled briefly into her mane before they began carding through it again as he breathed, “Nor yours, Caren.”

Tears welled again at that and she turned away from the door and Hresden, tilting her head back across Saran’s lap towards the back of the tent. Because that was where Kaalo was.

“I couldn’t save him,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I couldn’t...it was just like back then...when I couldn’t save my father.”

“Shh,” shushed Saran but Caren kept on.

“Why can I never save the males I love?” she asked brokenly. Blindly she reached for Hresden and gripped his hand when he caught hers and then coiled her other arm around Saran’s leg. Closing her eyes as the tears came faster, Caren went on, “I can’t lose either of you. _I can’t_. I can’t do it again.”

Both of them knew better than to promise her that they wouldn’t die.

Hresden had watched Quel’thalas fall.

Saran had already died once.

And yet she almost wanted them to swear it to her if only to believe that she could keep _something_ for once.

Instead what she got was Hresden clasping both of his hands around hers before bringing it to his face, silent as he placed a kiss on her fingers. She didn’t acknowledge that she felt the wetness of his tears as he leaned his face against her still bruised knuckles. And Saran just smoothed hair back from her forehead, the exposed bones of his fingers no longer icy as he then moved them to brush across her cheeks in a vain attempt to wipe away her tears. He said nothing and didn’t do anything besides that...but his face above her was set in that determined fashion that she’d learned meant he would get something done. Even if it well and truly killed him.

After a long moment, Caren took a breath and opened her eyes then began, “We should talk about tomorrow. About...about the body.” The last word was spoken in a whisper, broken and crackling like the ice of Icecrown itself.

“Tomorrow,” insisted Hresden. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“I…”

“ _Rest_ ,” Saran snapped, though his voice was low. “Everything else will keep until the morning, Caren. We’re here. We’ve got you.”

She started to open her mouth again but then Hresden interrupted with a low, “You’ve had our backs since we met you. Let us have yours for a little while.”

Earth Mother’s eyes, she did not deserve them. But she could ask for no greater support or protectors.

Nodding slightly, Caren looked up at Saran and he gave her a smile in his own way before he began to sing again, this time something slow and sweet and _mournful_. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Hresden startle, tilting his head to the side, and then he joined his voice to the rogue’s - untrained but soft and lyrical. They were a fine complement, the voices of the living and the dead.

As she closed her eyes and let their voices lull her towards sleep, she tried not to think of the fact that tomorrow she would say goodbye to her heart.

* * *

The next morning, Hresden and Saran wheeled Kaalo’s body out on a two-wheeled cart that the Crusaders blacksmith temporarily loaned them. Caren followed them in silence, limping slightly, as they made their way just out of sight of anyone within the Argent Vanguard. They found a section of stone on the ground that was sheltered from any winds and the two laid his body out in silence.

She watched, numbly, as Hresden circled Kaalo’s carefully wrapped body, his fingers tracing runes on the ground in magic that was beyond her. Then she felt fingers of bone wrap around hers and looked down Saran standing next to her, his gaze on their friend and her love and his hand so small within her own. Cautiously, Caren wrapped her fingers around his hand in return and murmured, “Thank you for being here, Saran.”

He flinched at the name - just barely, just enough that those that knew him noticed - but only said in return, “Where else would I be?”

They stood there in silence after that, just watching Hresden make his slow circle around the body until he was done and straightened up while wiping his hands against each other. On the ground the runes gleamed with a silvery sort of light that seemed to flicker at the edges with fire and Caren tilted her head curiously at them. The mage caught her look as he moved over to join them and tucked his arm around her other arm, gesturing vaguely for her to lean down towards him. As she did, he began to speak in Orcish.

“I know you can’t read the elven runes but look here. You see the way they glow silver? Tilt your head just so and focus _beyond_ the runes with your magic and not your eyes. Do you see where it begins to shimmer beyond them or where it forms something solid?”

Narrowing her eyes, Caren tried her best to do as he was saying and _thought_ that she succeeded. There definitely was something there but it was more the shimmer he mentioned and not anything solid. “I think so, yes?”

“That’s a shielding spell. It’ll keep anything within contained,” Hresden explained. He then flicked his wrist and the runes _sparked_. “The secondary part to the runes is flame, of course. Just as you requested.”

“Thank you,” she said. Then she bowed her head and let out a low breath, closing her eyes as she tried to find the strength to do what she needed to do. It helped having Hresden and Saran there but she...this part she had to do on her own.

But...she had never actually expected to have to _give_ Kaalo his last rites, even though they had spoken of it during their many talks over the years. It had happened amongst their discussions of the overlap between orcish and tauren beliefs as well as how they differed. He had just reached out to take her hand in his, lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles.

 _Gol_ , he had murmured warmly in slightly halting Taur-ahe except for the Orcish endearment, _speak the words to send me on if I leave this life before you. I would have the last words my ears hear be yours. I care not what they are, only that they are spoken with all your heart. Speak mine if I pass first and I will speak yours if you go before me._

 _Of course, my heart_ , she had replied, certain in that moment that neither of them would have to fulfill that promise.

All her years and her losses and she had still been such a _fool_.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she opened her eyes, lifting her head to look towards where she could see the rising light of An’she and the dim shadow of Mu’sha slowly fading. Then Caren stepped forward away from her friends and their grips released her like water.

She had discussed this with them before they had set out. And had asked them not to speak as she gave the rites, so that her words would be the last in Kaalo’s ears.

They remained silent behind her as she knelt at the edge of the runes, the tip of one hoof just a hairsbreadth from the flaming tip of one. Reaching into one of the pouches at her side, she drew out a handful of soil, tossing it over his wrapped body. The dark spots were starkly visible against the white sheet the Argent Crusade had supplied to wrap his body in, freckling the fabric.

Caren stared at his still form for a moment, tears streaming freely and blurring her vision, before she bowed her head and reached down to touch the stone beneath them. “Earth Mother,” she murmured in Taur-ahe, “this one did not follow you but he respected you and was a part of you as we all are. Watch his path into death. He is Kaalo Stormfist, once of the Whiteclaw Clan, and he carries my heart with him into what is beyond this life. Bless his passing, Mother, I ask you, for he…” She choked suddenly on the words and had to fight to continue. “...for he loved me as lightning loves the thunder storm.”

Then she stood and lifted both hands to the sky, entreating, “Sky Father, I know he is not of our people, he is not Shu’halo, but he was _noble_ and we would have been blessed to have his heart amongst our kind. I ask not to take his soul but to merely bless his passage beyond. See him to whatever he may seek.”

There was a beat of silence and then Caren closed her eyes, reaching out with her magic to the earth itself and then _beyond_ , seeking out perhaps what might be a connection with the elements Kaalo wielded. If only enough for them to _hear_.

“Fire and water,” she began, “sky and earth, hear me if you can. I entreat you on behalf of Kaalo Stormfist. He is beyond us now but perhaps...perhaps you may still find him. Hold him safe, if you can, if you comprehend the request of I who cannot speak your tongue. I ask only because he was my heart and now he carries it on to you.”

She imagined there was a rumble of the earth in return but was uncertain if it was real or merely within her mind. And for a moment Caren thought that there was a caress of wind against her cheek in some faint approximation of a hand, accompanied by a whisper she could not hear.

Kaalo had always said the elements listened. They may not always reply but they always _heard_.

Opening her eyes, she stepped back from the edge of the runes and murmured Hresden’s name. Instantly the runes sparked with flame before they blazed into life and the shield snapped into brilliant white light as it fought to contain the suddenly roaring flames within it. Caren stared at it for a long moment, not entirely certain she blinked until the flames began to die within.

Saran stepped silently forward then and he held up the simple wooden box that the quartermaster at the Argent Vanguard had gifted to him when he had gone looking for something to contain Kaalo’s ashes. The man had apparently refused to take any amount of coin for it, stating firmly that he had heard the tale of Caren’s loss of control on the battlefield and he would not charge a grieving lover the cost of the box that held their beloved’s ashes. Because there _was_ no cost that could cover it.

Another to place on her list of those to thank before she left the Vanguard.

Nodding solemnly, Caren took the box from his hands and turned back to the shielded area. Hresden was moving forward out of the corner of her eye and she watched him as he worked, his hands weaving intricate magics through the air. One hand controlled the fire, fingers first wriggling vigorously to keep the blaze going as sparks flared then faded around them and then slowly clenching down into a fist that smothered the fire as it went. The other hand was raised up high, at level with his shoulder, and he kept his thumb and pointer finger together on that hand - a sharp white glow just between those fingers the only indicator that they held the shield spell. The other three fingers moved in a constant wave along with his hand itself and frost gathered along the nails and his skin as he used one of his less often used magics to chill the heated air inside of the shield. And all the while he clenched his teeth as he concentrated on holding all three of those spells together, green eyes aglow with power tempered with a control like steel.

Wrapped up in a working like that, where he had to be focused and sure, _that_ was where Caren saw clearest the influence of his sister. Where she had a spine of steel, Hresden wielded a control that was just as unyielding.

Finally, his left fist fully clenched for several minutes and half of his right coated fully in frost, Hresden opened his right hand fully. The shield spell snapped just like that and the runes on the ground unravelled like a bit of cloth that was being tugged by a single thread.

 _Fuck_ , he mouthed before he shook his hand vigorously to dislodge some of the frost and bent over to brace his hands against his knees.

Stepping forward, Caren slowly lowered herself to the ground next to the pile of ashes that was all that remained. She stared down at it for a moment and then sat the box on the ground, carefully opening the complicated clasp and opening it up. Then she carefully let out a breath and bent forward to scoop up a handful of the ashes, reverently placing them within the box.

She said nothing when the last traces of the ashes were picked up on a wind that was impossible where they were at, depositing itself into the box. Instead she merely nodded in thanks, knowing that the elements needed no words.

As soon as she latched the box and stood with it, Caren asked, “Hresden, are you well?”

“Fine,” croaked the mage in response as he finally straightened back up. “Just been a while since I casted something that intense. Took a lot out of me.” His eyes then flicked down to the box grasped firmly in her hands and asked, “Where will you take him?”

Looking down at the box, she softly replied, “Blade’s Edge Mountains in Outland. He wished to be buried in what was left of the land that was his home long ago.”

“Want some company?” asked Saran.

Frowning down at him, Caren asked, “What of Cord?”

The undead stiffened slightly then waved a hand dismissively. “He’ll understand a detour.”

“Stay, Nec,” insisted Hresden. “You’re actually doing very specific work against the Scourge. Shit, you _know_ more about them than any of us. I’ll go with Caren.”

Saran’s eyebrows furrowed and as his mouth opened, Caren knew that an argument was coming. In order to forestall it, she reached out and clasped his shoulder tightly. He instantly stilled, looking up at her for a long moment, then let out a huff of air before turning his face away.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll stay. But only because you asked _nicely_ , Caren.”

Smiling, she noted, “I didn’t _ask_ at all.”

“I can read you, you know. You _asked_. And who am I to argue with your request?”

Not wanting him to think she didn’t want him with her if he hadn’t had other more important things to do, Caren leaned down and nuzzled his forehead in a tauren kiss. “It matters that you were willing to go,” she murmured, “but you have greater things to do, dear friend. Thank you for being here.”

He scoffed but then tilted his head up, bumping her chin with the tip of his nose in a return gesture.

“Anything for you, Caren,” he whispered, his voice so low it was nearly inaudible. Because she knew, as familiar as they’d become with each other, that Saran didn’t share his emotions easily usually. It was one of those harsh reminders of what his trainer at SI:7 had put him through to turn him into an assassin.

The rogue then slipped away from the gesture, heading towards the cart, and Hresden let out a little huff of breath. As Caren turned to look at him, the elf softly stated, “One day he’ll stop being so clammed up.”

“Habits are hard to break, as you well know,” she chided gently. “As is avoiding things that are uncomfortable to us.”

Hresden flinched at that because her comment fell true for him just as much as it did for Saran. In the almost two years that they’d known each other, she had witnessed many of the panic attacks that would take him in big, noisy crowds or sometimes at the mere mention of Silvermoon if it was a particularly bad day.

Her poor, broken men.

“Sorry, Caren,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean it…”

“I know how you meant it,” she interrupted, “that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t apply to _you_ as well.”

He looked away with a vague grimace at that, one hand falling nervously to the sword hanging at his waist. Then Hresden turned his green eyes back to her and asked softly, “Was Kaalo as broken as us?”

Caren’s heart clenched at the question and she looked down at the box in her hands, remembering back to their first meeting. To the somewhat aloof, solitary shaman who had just so happened to be smoking in a quiet spot of Thunder Bluff that day at the same time she had been seeking solitude. Who had tried to pack up and leave at her arrival but then had relaxed back into place when she had said that silence could be shared.

And she remembered the day that she had learned that he had lost his mate on Draenor to the violence that had broken out after the Horde had conquered it. That his son had died defending his mother during infighting within their own clan and his daughter had been stolen from his arms, taken by another clan that had raided Whiteclaw lands. He had only survived the wound he’d taken trying to defend her because he had ended up rescued by hunters from the Frostwolf Clan.

“Yes,” she replied, softly as she stroked her thumb across the top of the box.

“He was broken like us...but he did not give up.”

Tanned hands reached up to cover hers on either side of the box and Caren lifted her head to look Hresden in the eyes, the elf smiling up at her with a determined look in his gaze.

“Then neither will _we_ ,” he stated firmly. “Right?”

Smiling and not fighting the tears that welled up in her eyes, Caren nodded firmly. She would continue, as _he_ had, carrying the names and memories of those lost in what remained of her heart.

To do anything less, would be to disappoint his love for her.

* * *

Gol - Orcish for “home” (judging by the translation of Wor’gol from _Warlords_ )


End file.
